The Water Is Wide Read Online Free PDF Page B

me. I felt ludicrously white.
    I gave them a little pep talk—one of the rah-rah varieties that is a universal choice of teachers all over the world on the first day of school. It was dull, rambling, and full of those go-go-get-’em-get-’em epigrams concerning the critical need for every human being to live up to his highest potential and to squeeze every possible morsel of knowledge from the textbook. They expected it and nodded their heads in solemn, collective assent.
    Not one of them knew my name, but all of them had prior knowledge that a white teacher would preside over them for the year. I printed my name PAT CONROY on the board. I then said my name aloud. When I said “Conroy” they laughed like hell. Since I saw nothing intrinsically humorous in my last name, I asked them what was so damn funny. This seemed to increase their laughter by several octaves. Several of the kids were trying to pronounce my name. One girl got “Mr. Corning” out of it, and this was the nearest approximation I heard.
    Mama Brown ended my ruminations over the last-name syndrome by trooping her first-through-fourth graders in for the first-day assembly. They marched in single file like a well-drilled squad of soldiers. When all were in their seats, Mama Brown delivered the memorable opening-day address.
    â€œGood morning, babies.”
    A few hesitant good-mornings answered her.
    â€œWell, now, babies, that isn’t much of an answer for the first day of school. Let’s try it again. Good morning, babies.”
    â€œGood morning” came the still timorous reply.
    â€œNow, babies, I know your voices didn’t dry up like ole fruit over the summertime. Let’s use them vocal chords. Let me hear you say good morning like you mean it.”
    â€œGood morning!” they shouted loudly. The revival of the educational spirit buried in the inertia of summer had begun, at least for Mama Brown. She took a solid position behind the podium, which was placed somewhat pretentiously in the front of the room for the occasion. She then opened up with a fire-and-brimstone judgment-day sermon like an old circuit preacher who knew well the wrath of an angry God. She exhorted the kids to study hard and keep quiet or face the possibility of incurring the disfavor of the teacher who ruled them.
    â€œMost of you are slow,” she said. “All of us know that. But there are two of you, Frank and Mary, who could take a test right now and move up a grade or two. That’s because you got good brains and use them. The rest of you can’t think as good. We know that and you know that. Your brains are just slow. But you can learn if you work. You are just lazy, lazy, and lazy people just can’t get ahead in life. Of course some of you are even retarded, and that is even worse than being lazy. But we know you can’t help being retarded. That just means you have to work even harder than the lazy ones. Now those of you who are retarded know who you are. I don’t have to tell you. But retarded people need to be pushed and whipped harder than anyone.”
    Here she paused and eyeballed the entire congregation. She then turned to me with an ingratiating smile. “I now have the privilege of introducing Mr. Patroy to the class. Mr. Patroy will be our new principal this year. He will teach the upper grades in the basics of language communication and the new math. Mr. Patroy is so good to come over here this year and we are thankful that the Lord brought Mr. Patroy to us. Now I am going to let Mr. Patroy speak to us. Now I am going to let Mr. Patroy get the floor and tell you babies what he has planned.”
    I walked up to the podium and gave a brief self-conscious talk about the joys of scholarship, then quickly relinquished the speaker’s platform back to Mrs. Brown.
    Mrs. Brown turned solemn. “We are now going to recite the Lord’s Prayer,” she said. “Now the Soo-preme Court